


Heal Thyself

by brynnmck



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M, Pre-Serenity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:25:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brynnmck/pseuds/brynnmck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Yes, Dr. Simon Tam, top three percent of his class, knows all about addiction... in theory. Before he met Kaylee, though, he had no idea the </i>practice<i> of it could be so much fun.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Heal Thyself

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Firefly Friday.

As a doctor, Simon knows all about addiction. Symptoms, behaviors, treatments, psychological factors, he knows them all, can rattle them off like he’s got one of his long-lost Medacad textbooks wired to his larynx.

Yes, Dr. Simon Tam, top three percent of his class, knows all about addiction... in theory.

Before he met Kaylee, though, he had no idea the _practice_ of it could be so much fun.

Like most addictions, it had started small--quiet knocks on his door after River was asleep, a stolen afternoon on a mountainside on Ceres, a few subtle, suggestive smiles across the table at dinner. Actually, truth be told, it had probably started with a pair of apple cheeks and flirtatious eyes charming him from underneath a twirling parasol... but this, he thinks, his hand shielding Kaylee’s head from the compartment wall as they tumble against it, makes any textbook definition pale in comparison.

She grins up at him through the crosshatched dimness, that wicked, playful light in her eyes that never fails to both embarrass him and drive him absolutely wild. He kisses the grin, wedges his arm into the narrow space between them so he can splay his fingers against her hip, bare where her unzipped coveralls have been tugged away. She wiggles a bit to give him better access, her own hands busy at the buttons of his shirt, and his heartbeat accelerates at her soft moan as his mouth moves along her jaw to her ear. She’s made it a game, recently, to see how many places on _Serenity_ they can "christen," and tonight she’d ambushed him after dinner and dragged him into one of the ship’s many hidden compartments. As usual, he’d been helpless to resist her. And now here they are, rushed and laughing and breathless and hampered by the total lack of adequate space, and Mal or anyone else could happen upon their little hideaway at any time, and Simon can’t remember a time in the past several years when he’s been so happy.

And it’s not just the sex, either, though he has to admit to himself--if not to Kaylee--that when he’d finally decided to stop babbling and just kiss her, it seemed to make them both much happier than any of his well-intentioned restraint ever had. And her enthusiasm, her adventurousness, her simple joy in everything from holding hands to positions he’s never even heard of before... well, it’s a revelation and a relief after his hesitant, guarded fumblings with the china-doll socialites of his past, and he loves exploring this new territory with her.

Still, that doesn’t even scratch the surface of his addiction. As much as he craves the sighs and the half-muffled shouts and the sleepy, satisfied smiles he’s learning to elicit from her, he also loves the way the tip of her tongue sticks out between her teeth when she’s up to her greasy elbows in engine parts, intent on a particularly challenging ailment of _Serenity_ ’s. The way her leg curls companionably around his below the mess table. The way she can make him laugh, make him forget, make him tell her things about his past and his fears and his joys before he has time to remember he’s supposed to be alone. The way she always waits at the edge of the cargo bay whenever anyone is returning from a planet sojourn, ready to greet the travelers--even Jayne--with a sunny smile and a "Welcome home." The way she connects everyone on the crew, her sweetness and warmth woven around them at the moments when their love for her is the only thing they all can agree on.

Their clothes are mostly shoved aside now, and he’s glad she thought to squeeze a blanket into the tiny space with them, because her bare back and the cold floor are a bad combination and his professional, clinical opinion is that stopping now could quite possibly kill him. He does pause for a second, though, just to look at her, all flushed skin and shining eyes and quizzical, half-shy smile, and he knows that he’s too moody and too burdened and too galactically hunted to deserve her, but he needs her now and he can’t remember how to _not_ need her. He bends his head and kisses her, slow and reverent, and her soundless moan into his mouth as he sinks into her sets his head spinning like no drops or alcohol ever invented.

So here he is, the doctor become an addict, and he seriously doubts there’s any treatment for his particular craving.

If there is, he doesn’t want to know about it.  



End file.
